


“You can practise on me.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [12]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of shorts of possible first kisses between these two. Got a few ideas. Feel free to submit prompts for anything you’d like to see in the comments below or over on Tumblr at lulacat3.





	“You can practise on me.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SleepyEye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEye/gifts).



> A gift for SleepyEye. Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> “It's total cheezballs, but I've always been a sucker for Robin going on an undercover date for work, and being nervous cause she's never been on a date since Matthew, and Cormoran has to help her "practice dating".”
> 
> This ran way longer than my self-imposed rule of around a thousand words, but it needed to be. Hope it still fits in this series.

 

“Cormoran...” Robin hesitated, blushing a little. He looked up from his desk to where she was hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and frowned at her discomfort. “What’s up?”

She paused, fiddling with a strand of her hair. “Well, it’s a bit silly, but...”

Strike waited, eyebrows raised, amused by her hesitance.

Get on with it, she told herself. “Corporate Guy wants me to go out with one of the junior partners,” she said in a rush. “He thinks he’s the leak, and would brag about it given half a chance, especially as they all think I’m only a temp anyway. He has actually asked me out, so I said yes. We’re going out on Friday.”

Strike raised his eyebrows. “And?” he said, trying not to think of Robin on a date with a young entrepreneur, someone he already disliked for daring to think himself good enough for her.

“I haven’t been on a first date in a decade,” she said. “And not at all as a grown-up, I was 17 when I started going out with Matthew. What do I do?”

Strike waved his hand vaguely. “Just be yourself,” he said. Robin glared at him. “That’s not going to cut it,” she said. “I’m not interesting. What do I do, what do I say, what do I wear?”

He looked at her. “Robin, you have plenty to say, to offer,” he said. “We chat in the pub all the time, for hours.”

“That’s different,” she said, dismissively.

“Why?”

“I’m not trying to date you. We’re just friends.”

_More’s the pity,_ Strike thought. “Okay, then, tomorrow night,” he heard himself say. _What are you doing, Strike?_

“What?” she said, confused.

“A date. I’ll pick you up at half past seven. You can practise on me,” he said, grinning. Robin blushed again. She opened her mouth to protest, but... actually the idea sounded rather exciting. _Stop it,_ she told herself. _This is business._ “Okay,” she said, trying to squash down a flutter in her heart. “Thanks,” and she went back to her desk.

_What did you just do?_ Strike asked himself. _This is dangerous._ But he had to admit he was really looking forward to it. And was it his imagination, or had she seemed to like the idea, too?

....

It took Robin over an hour to get ready, and her hands shook the whole time. _Get a grip,_ she told herself. _You’re just going out with a friend._ But she couldn’t pick the right outfit, going from jeans to a skirt to leggings and eventually back to jeans, skinny black ones with a cream top with black beading. Her trembling hands messed up her eyeliner twice. She put her hair up and took it down again. Angela watched with amusement, but made no comment.

Strike rang her doorbell on the dot of half past seven. He had taken far less time to get ready but had been no less nervous, and had smoked too many cigarettes as the minutes crawled by. He had decided a suit was over the top, so was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt. He’d hovered outside a florist he’d passed on the way, but decided flowers would be too much as well. This wasn’t a real date, after all. So why was he so nervous? He didn’t even get nervous on real dates. But this was Robin.

She opened the door, and he had to force himself not to stare. She looked... sparkly. Beads in her top caught the light. Her eyes were lit up more than usual, her cheeks a little flushed. Her eyeliner and darker lipstick than she wore during the day were sexy. She was tall in heeled boots and figure-hugging jeans. He was doomed.

“You look... nice,” he managed, and she beamed at him. “So do you,” she said. “I’ll just grab my bag.” She ducked back inside for a moment and took a shuddering breath. He looks amazing in that shirt, she thought. She couldn’t fail to notice the chest hair visible in the V below his neck or the scent of his aftershave. She picked up her bag. Behave yourself, she thought firmly.

They strolled down the street. “I’ve booked a table at Paolo’s,” he said. “It’s a little independent Italian in Soho. They’ve got live music later, if you fancy that.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, smiling. She felt awkward suddenly, as though this were a proper date and not just an evening with her friend and mentor.

“So, what should I talk about first?” she asked. He cast her a sideways glance, amused. “What would we normally be talking about?” he said.

“Work, cases, inside jokes,” she responded immediately.

“Good point,” he conceded. “Okay, the topic of work is off the table for the evening.”

“Um...” she said.

Strike laughed. “Wow, you really are crap at this,” he teased. “Good thing you’re practising.” She glared at him, but couldn’t help giggling too. God, she’s beautiful, he thought. He couldn’t decide if this evening was going to be perfect or exquisitely painful. Probably both.

“Okay, well, there’s your standard, if a little boring, topics,” he said. “You know, what’s the last book you read, film you saw, play you went to. Best place you’ve ever travelled to or would like to go. That kind of stuff.”

She looked up at him, curious suddenly. “What trip would you do?” she asked.

He considered. “Nick and I always said we’d drive the US coast to coast,” he said. “Bit of a cliche, but it appealed. Fly to New York and hire a car and just explore, finish down Route 66 into Santa Monica. Never got round to it. You?”

“Ooh, that sounds fab,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to do a luxury train trip. Like the Orient Express or something, explore Europe, maybe Russia. Matthew wasn’t interested, he just wanted to do beach holidays. Which is fine, but they’re a bit all the same. I like to do stuff, not lie about.”

He smiled at her. “There you go,” he said. “That’s something interesting we didn’t know about each other before. Just don’t overthink it.”

She nodded, relaxing a little.

They reached Soho, but to her surprise Strike led her to a tiny bar down a side street. “We’ve got some time before dinner,” he said. “This place has a really good range of wines, it’s run by a guy who visits vineyards all over Europe. There’s a Sauvignon I want you to try.”

She glanced up at him as he held the door open for her, suddenly deeply touched. He’d done this specifically for her, this didn’t look like a real ale kind of establishment. Smiling to herself, she moved towards the little bar. Strike took her coat and hung it on the stand with his, sat her at a little table. He went and bought the white for her and a glass of red for himself.

“Cheers,” he said, tilting his glass towards her. “Here’s to being back on the dating scene, even if your first two are fake!” Robin laughed and clinked glasses with him. She took a sip, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow, that’s good!” she said.

Strike smiled. “I thought you’d like it,” he said, pleased. “So, next topic?”

“Um... cats or dogs?” she hazarded, and Strike snorted into his wine. “What?!” she demanded, starting to giggle again.

“That’s rubbish!” he said, and Robin was giggling helplessly now. “You see why I need help,” she managed, and he grinned at her. “I think the world needs warning that you’re back on the dating scene,” he said fondly. She gazed back at him, transfixed suddenly by his grin, by the contrast of dark hair and crisp white shirt. She pulled her eyes away.

“Okay, how about... What’s a really childish thing you like doing?” he went on. “That always gives you an insight into someone, into their playful side.”

“Ooh, that’s a good one.” Robin screwed up her nose, thinking. She looked adorable, he thought. “When everyone’s out, I like to play my music really loud and dance,” she said. “Does that count?”

“Mm, not sure that’s childish enough,” he said. “Try again.”

“Okay, I really love building sandcastles,” she said. “And I’m still way better at it than my brothers. They’re not patient enough. I build masterpieces with shell decorations and flags and moats, and a drawbridge if I can find the right seaweed and driftwood.”

Strike grinned. “Impressive,” he said. “And you didn’t grow up by the sea.”

“No, but we went every holiday when I was little,” Robin said. “We had a caravan at Whitby. Come on, then, how about yours?”

Strike flushed a little. “Mine is really childish,” he said.

“Go on,” she said, intrigued.

He grinned again. “Minecraft,” he said, and Robin started giggling again. “I got into it a couple of Christmases ago with my nephews, initially to bond with them and avoid some dreadful date Lucy was trying to set me up with, but I kind of got hooked. I got the app for my phone, it passes the time at stakeouts.”

“So you play it by yourself?” Robin asked, grinning.

“I do,” he said. “I’ve built an entire railway system for minecarts round my island.”

“Can I see?” she said, suddenly interested. Strike glanced at his watch. “Maybe later, if you’re good,” he said. “Time for dinner.”

He fetched her coat while she finished her wine, and helped her into it, and he held the door for her again as they left the bar. My, he’s good at this, she thought. It was like seeing a whole new side to him, chatty and fun and courteous. She found herself tucking her arm into his as they strolled to the restaurant. He smiled down at her, and didn’t pull his arm away.

Something changed between the bar and the restaurant. Robin couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but all mentions of the evening being a practice date stopped. At first they just chatted about this and that, about other trips they’d like to do, places they had been. It felt in many ways like a normal pub evening. But gradually the intimacy of a dinner for two stole over her, and it began to feel like a real date.

What’s different, she wondered. How many times had they eaten together, early and late, sat opposite one another chatting like this, and it had just been two friends eating together. But tonight was different. Maybe because they had both dressed up. Maybe because, although the practice element had faded away, the date part definitely hadn’t. With work subjects off the table, Strike talked about himself more. She felt bold enough to ask him questions about his childhood, about Cornwall, and told him stories of ponies and gymkhanas. A feeling of intimacy hovered over the table, and she was sure she wasn’t imagining it.

Plates cleared away, the staff began to rearrange the tables while the band set up. Strike excused himself to go for a cigarette and Robin took herself off to the ladies.

Strike stood on the street, smoking and gazing up at the sky. What am I doing, he thought. This is dangerous. We’ve had a good evening, she’s relaxed and chatted, she’ll be fine on Friday. I need to take her home now, before I do something we’ll both regret and screw up a perfect working relationship and a good friendship.

He stubbed out his cigarette and went back inside, ducking under the door frame. The tables had all been rearranged and Robin had moved her things to a corner table not too near the band. She had fetched another round of drinks, he noticed. So much for suggesting calling it a night now. She waved him over, and smiled up at him as he approached. His resolve to end the evening began to crumble at once. He smiled back and sat down.

Robin’s heart skipped a beat at his smile. How did I ever not think him handsome, she wondered. She had tried to give herself a talking to in the ladies, looking herself in the eye sternly in the mirror, but she had reached a different conclusion to Strike. Why not? Her reflection seemed to say back. This is more than a practice, you know it is. Look at the way he looks at you, the effort he’s put into tonight. This is a real date. Why not?

She patted the seat next to her on the bench that ran round the edge of the restaurant. He slid in behind the table next to her so they were both facing the band, who had finished warming up and were beginning to gently play a few quieter numbers as people still drifted about and chatted. The floor was cleared, so presumably the evening was going to get livelier and involve dancing, but for now it was quiet, romantic.

She turned towards him in the bench, their knees touching. “I love it here,” she said. “Good choice.”

He smiled. “Glad you like it,” he said, a little unsteadily. She was very close. “I think it’s going to get quite lively.”

“We can always go somewhere quieter,” she said softly, her eyes holding his. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned towards him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her lips parting in anticipation.

“Robin...” Strike murmured. She raised her eyes to his again, so close now that she must surely be able to hear his heart pounding. “Yes, Cormoran?” Her eyes searched his, asking the question that she already knew the answer to.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop. Instead he found himself falling slowly towards her. Her eyes drifted closed as their lips met, soft and gentle. He moved his lips slowly over hers. She was so soft beneath him, her movements matching his. Then her lips parted just a little. Her hand came up to grip the side of his shirt at his waist, and her lips became more insistent. What had started as longing and reverence jumped to desire, and he felt her gasp a little against him. Heat swept through him and he pulled back reluctantly.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Her breathing was a little uneven. Then her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Am I safe to assume we’ve moved on from practising to the real thing?” she asked, and he laughed a little. “I’d say so,” he replied.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I gave up trying to put the italics in, was too much of a fight. I’ll try again...


End file.
